Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. ’ ‘Well, she didn’t walk through the walls, that’s certain,’ said Hilary acidly. Good riddance. Melusine could not wish either to know how their kindness served only to emphasise the lack in her life ensuing from Gerald’s continued absence. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. .
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